


Keeper

by dinosaurdragon



Series: The Way of the Story [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Epistolary, Fantastic Racism, POV First Person, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurdragon/pseuds/dinosaurdragon
Summary: Anders destroyed the Chantry, and all of the Hawkes' friends had to leave. Clan Sabrae needs Vir'era; he is their Keeper, now. They are his responsibility, and he will not hide from that.But he still needs to do what he can to fix what he can.-This is a series of vignettes and letters to cover the events between the end of Dragon Age II in 9:37 Dragon to the beginning of Inquisition in 9:41 Dragon.





	1. vignettes make me want salad bc vinaigrette

**Author's Note:**

> HEY HEY HEYYYY! i think we're about at the halfway point now, in terms of how long twots is likely to be. fuck knows the inquisition part is gonna be long af. but this one should be short! or, well, shorter.
> 
> i'm doing a slightly different style for this, because while there are things i want to cover, i don't need to cover literally everything. expect lots of timeskips and no small amount of information/setup happening purely in letter form, though this fic will not be Just Letters, because, gods, i couldn't write that. there's still a Fuckton of letters and epistolary writing, though, so consider yourselves warned.
> 
> also, my dear friend megan ([CelticxPanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticxPanda/pseuds/CelticxPanda) here on ao3) has made a discord server for her fic (that i beta) and was kind enough to allow me a channel for twots on it, too--so if you want to, please feel free to join up! [here's the link](https://discord.gg/VkkhqqG), but if that one doesn't work for some reason, hmu on tumblr ([dinosaurdragon](http://dinosaurdragon.tumblr.com/)) and i can help you out.
> 
> also also, since this is a pretty new style for me, please feel free to let me know how it works or doesn't work for you! even if you don't know specifics but just feel like 'it's not as flowy' or 'the letters are boring' or 'i like that each chapter is kind of only about one thing' or something, i want to know! i enjoy concrit [i am a slut for concrit] and really do want to get better, so any input helps.

_Briala,_

_I apologize for the lack of title or family name; I know Orlesians care a great deal for such things, but I confess I do not know yours. I hope you can forgive this transgression, and that you will read my letter with no less consideration._

_I am Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae. I write to you to ask a great favor, though I acknowledge that what I will offer you in exchange may seem cryptic, and perhaps they are not enough for what I ask. I hope you can forgive this presumption, as well. As I have no way to ensure you do anything written in this letter, it is based entirely on faith that I send it at all. Forgive me some mystery; I have reasons that I wish to remain anonymous._

_What I offer is advice threefold:_

_First, trust no shemlen with the welfare of the elvhen. That is to say, a human in power cannot be expected to consider the lives of many faceless elves to be of any significant worth. They may appreciate individuals of our kind, but it is very rare for them to care about us more than their own need to remain in power. If they are threatened for being too soft on elves, it is elves who will pay the price. If you wish to ensure the safety of those who do not have the power to ensure their own, you must do it yourself. Write to Bann Shianni of Denerim’s Alienage or to Keeper Lanaya of Ostagar’s Dalish; they will know better what you can do. You can do more than most, after all._

_Second, heed the stories of Fen’Harel. Their moral is not only to be careful what you ask for; it is to be careful who you trust. Some can be trusted to do what you want without great effort, but some cannot—and others will do as you desire for a price you may not wish to pay. To know what you will pay, you must know who you ask. A slow arrow will kill the beast, but still the beast will kill many. Do not offer without thought._

_Third, and perhaps this is gauche of me to write so blatantly, but I find the temptation too great: ruin Gaspard. However you can, through whatever means available to you. He is shemlen at their worst, dressed up to pretend he will be the best. He kills us for sport; I have heard clans whisper of his hunting parties, of those he has slaughtered out of a sick enjoyment. Such a being does not deserve any power, let alone the opportunity to fight for the Orlesian throne._

_As for what I ask of you, it is this: with this letter to you, you will find a second letter, addressed to the Empress. Please deliver it to her for me. I cannot trust that other methods would bring it to her without trouble; read it if you wish…_

 

It was the beginning of spring when my clan arrived in Orlais and set from Jader towards Halamshiral. With so many of us, it would be slow-going—especially since we had only four halla. We could cover only short distances, even when those who were able to helped pull the aravels, even when I, in halla shape, helped pull. Jader was not very populous, at least, and the roads between it and the Imperial Highway were not frequented by many who might take offense to our presence.

But when we were within a day’s walk of the Imperial Highway, things grew more difficult. With humans among our number, we needed to be even more careful than ever. Mostly, this meant that we hid Cynthia, Connor, and the two other human mages in my aravel as we traveled. When we came to rest and pulled our aravels as close as was feasible and as far from sight as was manageable, we kept them in the center.

They didn’t like this, of course. It was too similar to how they’d been treated in the Circle, and I could not fault them for that. We negotiated that they would help to keep watch at night.

We did not insist they cover themselves with cloaks and hoods to disguise that they were human. We should have. I should have.

Two weeks from Jader and four until we would reach the place near Halamshiral for the Arlathvhen, we were attacked.

It was the middle of the night; I had taken to sleeping outside in cat form to make use of the advanced hearing and sensitivities afforded me. I let Myrvaise and her sister sleep in my aravel. To be honest, I had yet to sleep there at all. It was still very unchanged from when it had been Marethari’s, and I did not yet feel comfortable taking it, even if it was now mine.

I woke when I heard loud, unfamiliar shouting at the edge of our camp, followed quickly by answering yells from the hunters on watch. I flew to the sounds without delay, not even bothering to see who else might have heard.

There were at least a dozen humans when I arrived, and though that is not an overwhelming number when you have mages on your side, it’s still far more than I had hoped.

Those on watch were already engaged in combat—Connor stood at the back working spells, and I saw Pol struggling to hold off two attackers with just his sword and dagger. Why he didn’t have his shield, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.

I dropped into my natural shape and cast a shield at Pol just quick barely enough to blunt a swipe that would have drawn blood. There wasn’t time for much more than that; I sent a shield to whoever I caught sight of, but there were swords coming for me from the moment I touched down.

“They’ve got a demon!” I heard one of the humans yell. “They’ve already killed someone!”

“That boy’s a mage! He may be helping them!”

“Then we kill anything that moves!”

A sword came crashing towards me. I darted to the side; it caught my sleeve instead of my shoulder. The attacking humans kept shouting so much that I couldn’t hear anything intelligible above the din.

They were too far into camp already for me to simply summon up a large circle of ice to entrap them all—some of my clan would be caught in the crossfire. We had to fight them one-by-one.

A few of our hunters (not those on watch elsewhere, as we could not afford to be flanked) had come, though; a few arrows caught some of the humans. Only one fell, but the others were wounded, and that was a start.

I covered the man in front of me with ice until he could not move. He was nearly a foot taller than me and significantly larger all-around; I could not topple him, so I left him there and continued on to the next human in my sights.

We massacred them.

Not without casualties, though thanks to having magic on our side, no one died. It was close: Pol got too confident with my shield spell on him, and one of the humans got a direct shot to his neck. He should have died. If Connor hadn’t proven handy with healing, he would have.

A posthumous examination of the bodies showed that these were not truly trained mercenaries as they had feigned, nor were they likely even soldiers. They had some training in weaponry, but ultimately, these were village folk.

“This is why we do not keep shemlen near our clans,” Hahren Linara said. “Keeper, I must repeat my advice to you: leave them behind at the next village. They are not helpless. Surely they will be fine without your aid.”

I stared at the body of a young man who had died with hate clear in his features. “You know why I can’t do that, Hahren.”

She sneered and scoffed. “On your head be it.”

We moved as far as we could push ourselves the next day.

 

_…Finally, I know it is forward of me to ask this of you, as you are Empress of Orlais and I am not even a citizen of your country, but I hope you will read my advice nonetheless._

_Keep a keen eye on Gaspard. He is a greater enemy than you know—he makes gambles and bluffs and cares little enough for the Game that even I know such, but his lack of subtlety does not make him any less a danger. Perhaps he is a greater danger to my people than yours, this much is true: you surely know how cruel he is to elves, so I shall not elaborate._

_King Alistair and Queen Capella of Ferelden would be willing to entertain better relations between Ferelden and Orlais; I know this for a fact. They have mentioned as much to me. Reach out to them, and you may find allies to aid you in protecting your throne._

_As I said, you may read the letter I enclosed within. I hope my friend is with you already; she may clarify what she chooses._

_If you ever need to contact me, however unlikely such an event is, please send a letter addressed to Maleficent to Denerim Royal Palace. I apologize once more for the cat-and-mouse, but it is for the safety of my clan. Néanmoins, je vous promets: je veux seulement et simplement proteger._

_Merci en avance._

_Vir’era, Keeper of Clan Sabrae  
Former Grey Warden of Ferelden_

_Morrigan,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Things are going to be very tumultuous soon, and I do hope you and Kieran are safe._

_When you receive this letter, please send a message addressed to Maleficent to Denerim Royal Palace. I’ll receive it. I don’t know if Daylen will have gone yet or not, but if he is with you still, I urge you to send him to find Castor and Neria. They will be heading west—beyond the Approach and the Hissing Wastes—and he would do well to accompany them. Plus, they could use a healer of his talent, I’m sure of it. After all, who knows what they will find out there? Likely more than they are looking for, that’s for sure._

_Do you remember my journal? The one I kept during the Fifth Blight? I found some information in it that will be of interest to you. When I see you next, I will be happy to share. I worry, though, about putting the words to paper—I hope you do not take offense to secrecy on my part._

_Dirthavara, Morrigan: Kieran ara dareth. Orlais ara dareth._

_Ma falon, Ghilan’nain ar ghilana… Mythal tel’elura._

_Vir’era_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations (added as of 15 april 2018--so sorry that i forgot them!)
> 
> french:  
>  _Néanmoins, je vous promets: je veux seulement et simplement proteger._ \- Nevertheless, I promise you: I want only and simply to protect. (please note that the french may be inaccurate--if you have corrections, let me know.)  
>  _Merci en avance._ \- thanks in advance
> 
> elvish:  
>  _Dirthavara, Morrigan: Kieran ara dareth. Orlais ara dareth._ \- I promise, Morrigan: Kieran is/will be safe. Orlais is/will be safe.  
>  _Ma falon, Ghilan’nain ar ghilana… Mythal tel’elura._ \- My friend, Ghilan'nain guides me... Mythal sees nothing/does not see.


	2. oh, for the love of...

_Grand Enchanter Fiona,_

_Greetings. I hope this letter finds you well. I know we have never met, but I understand you are well-acquainted with King Alistair and Queen Capella of Ferelden. I am a friend of theirs; I fought alongside them during the Fifth Blight. My name is Vir’era, and now I am Keeper of Clan Sabrae._

_There are a few matters I wish to bring to your attention. I hope you will take my thoughts under advisement, though I understand it may be difficult to trust my words._

_Regarding the mage rebellion: though I doubt I should have any need to remind you of this, as you yourself are an elf, please do not look to Tevinter for any significant advice or inspiration. I’ve friends in the country now, and there is something sinister stirring. Purists are gaining power, and any aid they might offer you will always be a trap. Be mindful._

_Regarding Anders: there will surely be great discussion of Anders, of what he did, of if it was necessary. I cannot claim to know the answers, but I know the truth of what happened, as I was there…_

 

The Arlathvhen did not take place in Halamshiral; it couldn’t. We would stand too great a chance of being slaughtered, captured, or otherwise harassed if we amassed anywhere with so many human eyes watching. But Halamshiral was close enough to reach; close enough that a few brave souls, those young enough to have not received vallaslin, chose to trade near the city.

It was not a gathering of all clans at all times; primarily, it was for the hahrens and the keepers, as well as any craftsmasters. Some of the larger clans boasted things like textiles and glass, though most, like Clan Sabrae, did not have the resources for more than a single jack-of-all-trades craftsmaster.

On the first evening, we Keepers brought our aravels to a central point. All of the other Keepers were accompanied by their Firsts, and some had Seconds (two even had Thirds!). It was strange to be the only one so alone, but I was the only mage in my clan.

As had become my habit while traveling, I pulled my own aravel in my halla shape. Mheganni accompanied me to help me out of the harness. Unsurprisingly, this caused no small amount of confusion.

“Mheganni?” asked one woman. She looked to be around our age, but I hadn’t known that Mheganni was familiar with anyone outside our clan. “I thought… Your Keeper…”

“He’s here,” Mheganni said, then patted my shoulder. “I’m only here to help him detach the aravel, then I’ll be on my way.”

“That’s not what I meant,” the woman said, but she didn’t say anything more as Mheganni did as she’d said she would.

A few others watched, too. There was no great commotion, but I supposed that it was considerably rare for a hunter to come along for the initial meeting of the Keepers. As soon as I was free to move, I stepped away from the harness and transformed.

It was perhaps more dramatic than I had realized it would be, but I had forgotten, in the moment, that shapeshifting was so uncommon as to be shocking at first sight. My clan was now accustomed to it, and I had held the knowledge for nearly a decade.

“By Sylaise…” the woman murmured, her brown eyes wide as she stared at me. “Are—are you…”

“Hanal’ghilan,” said another woman, coming to stand beside the first. I almost didn’t realize that she was greeting me. “Ma Sabraevhen’keeper?”

It took a moment for me to answer, and in that moment, all who realized what was happening gathered around. Mheganni, a rock in the storm, did not leave me to the metaphorical vultures. “Ar Vir’era Sabrae,” I said, after a moment. “Tel’hanal’ghilan.”

“Tel’hanal’ghilan?” The second woman, old enough that she was surely a Keeper herself, tilted her head at me in consideration. “Ma elvhen?”

“Ar elvhen.”

“Vir’era?” asked the first woman, and I turned to look at her. “The Grey Warden of the Fifth Blight?”

Now there were murmurs. I hadn’t expected anyone to remember that, honestly. It hadn’t been—well, it was important, yes, and had always been, but so few people realized it of their own accord, and even fewer without any kind of prompt.

“I—yes. That’s… I was there. But I left the order; my clan needed me more.”

“Then you are Hanal’ghilan,” said the second woman, voice firm like a judge’s gavel. “Perhaps you were elvhen first, but still you are Hanal’ghilan.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Her surety barred any protest. “You honor us, Keeper Vir’era Hanal’ghilan.”

“Sabrae,” I corrected.

She had a smile like sunlight on moving water. “Keeper Vir’era Hanal’ghilan Sabrae.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she kept on as though nothing was amiss. “I am Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, and this is my First, Dima. We are pleased to meet you at last. Do you have enough halla now?”

To my surprise, the other Keepers took Deshanna’s lead, and I was easily accepted, though more than one did note having never met me before, and some asked after Marethari and Merrill. Those conversations were not easy (more than one refused to believe that Merrill would turn to blood magic or that Marethari would be so reckless), but…

Well. It was good, and we had been in sore need of good. Mheganni excused herself early on, but Dima hovered nearby the whole time.

I knew that one of Clan Lavellan would possibly be very important in just a few short years—and perhaps it would be Dima—so I made an effort to speak with her that evening. “Dima, have you had much contact with shemlen?”

“Some,” she said, shrugging. “But never alone. Usually, my brother is the one who wants to visit a town, and I sometimes go with. I don’t always have the time to, though. Our clan is rather large, so Keeper Deshanna often asks for my help in her duties. Especially when the hunters grow too bold.”

I hummed. “I spent seven years among shemlen, and I learned much in their company, but I am glad to be among my people.” There was an inkling here, a tickle at the back of my mind, reminding me of my journal that said I was not always elvhen, that I had not been born Dalish. “I like to believe it has given me perspective to know how they do things, and I hope it will aid the Dalish.”

“I hope so, too,” Dima said. “Keeper Deshanna always says we must pay attention to the shemlen, because what they do will always affect us. Amir—my brother—sometimes gathers information in cities because of this.”

“She’s right.” Amir. Hm. A familiar name, though one I could not place. “Soon, there will be much war among the shemlen. I will tell everyone what I know tomorrow about the state of things…”

 

Each day, we exchanged knowledge, books, tools, stories—anything and everything we had, we offered. No one clan knew all the information we had painstakingly gathered, and the joy each Keeper expressed in learning new things of our ancient past brought golden light into my heart.

Though I doubt every Keeper took my words as seriously as I would have liked, all who attended the Arlathvhen also did listen to my warnings about brewing shemlen wars—both of the Orlesian civil war (“I have noticed great tension among the shemlen myself,” said Keeper Hawen) and of the Mage-Templar war (“We saw some of these running shem mages from Kirkwall ourselves,” said Keeper Deshanna).

“Keeper Lanaya,” I said, turning to the Keeper of Ostagar’s Dalish, “is there room in the lands Ferelden gave you to take in more people?”

She tilted her head as she considered. “There is plenty of land, yes, but I worry that there may not be enough to hunt. Some of our number have started learning to farm, but we still hunt for most of our food. The Korcari Wilds are too dangerous for regular hunts, the Brecilian Forest too far, and the druffalo will leave if they do not have land enough to roam. We could take perhaps… two hundred more at most, until we better understand farming.”

This, unfortunately, was not a subject the other Keepers could help with. “I see.” I wondered if there was any way I could convince Alistair to have someone go out to teach the Dalish to farm—probably not, though. And they were unlikely to trust anyone who had not proven worthy of it. “If I come across anything which may help, I shall send it to you.”

“Ma serannas.”

Along with all this, though, and perhaps more importantly than the sharing of knowledge and tools, we shared people. It’s impossible to keep a gene pool healthy when there are only one or two hundred people, but by bringing in new people, we could manage it. Hahrens tended not to move clans, nor did Keepers or established Firsts or married couples, but just about everyone else was liable to move.

Of course, it was not simply based on luck of the draw. Most moved clan because they had been wooed. The Arlathvhen was full of whirlwind romances, and was well-known for being cited as the reason for an increase in the number of babies born in the year following. Keepers were not often on the receiving end of such attentions, but that seemed more because they were so busy with other things than because they were undesired.

Even I had a few people approach me, and it was not limited to men. It was hardly an issue to dissuade them; most were very gracious about being turned away, and even those that took it harder understood that I was a new Keeper, and did not have time for romance.

I didn’t mention that not a one had piqued my interest in the first place. Not even the men, some of whom were gorgeous enough that even I was surprised at my lack of reaction. I did have a habit and a type, after all, and some fit the bill, yet still…

Oh well. I hadn’t lied when I said I didn’t have time for romance, after all.

Mheganni received a few of her own suitors, but, like me, she turned each away. I didn’t ask her why. It had been years since the Blight, but even so, she had lost her intended then, and had never fully recovered. Perhaps if Theron hadn’t been Blighted at the same time, if Merrill hadn’t been forced to leave… Mheganni was so protective of young Tamlen, in a way she was not about any of the other children, not even her sister. She still grieved for her Tamlen, long after it was considered appropriate.

Speaking of Ellana, though. She was of age to receive her own suitors, or to pursue someone herself. Most of those her age who were here were very active in this; it was almost a rite of passage into adulthood. Some were still barefaced, but most, like Ellana, had their vallaslin. And Ellana did receive a few invitations to speak in moonlight, and she did accept a few… until Pol finally gathered the courage to do it himself. His offer was the last she accepted.

As the moons rose each night, song and laughter and story filled the air like a heady incense, bringing joy to all nearby. Dima, apparently, was a talented musician, and she shared many songs with Hahren Paivel, myself, and the other musically-inclined folk.

The last night was particularly joyous. Not a single attack had been made on our joined camp for the first time in living memory, and we sang to thank the gods and fate as much as to express our sheer elation.

“ _Tell me that the night is long,_  
Tell me that the moon is glowing!  
Fill my glass, I’ll sing a song,  
And we’ll start the music flowing!”

 

_…Lethallin, I hope you and Zevran will stay near Ostagar for long enough that we may see you again. It will not be for some months yet, but I have missed you terribly, and I know Mheganni has as well. With how we both now need to keep our presences lesser-known, I fear I will not be able to contact you without great trouble in the future._

_There is much else I would have you know. Trouble has long been brewing in Thedas, and with what soon shall certainly come to pass, I worry for your safety. Please, lethallin, even if you do not stay with Keeper Lanaya much longer, try to find me so I may tell you what I know. If nothing else, know I intend to visit as many of our old friends as possible._

_Life is not all doom and gloom, of course. Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel has given me the name Hanal’ghilan; I hope I shall prove worthy of it. And our clan is as safe as I can hope to keep them. We even have more halla now, and Clan Ghilain even gave us a young hart. I am calling him Spirit._

_I hope to see you soon, lethallin. Give Zevran my best._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Vir’era_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we've met a lavellan for the first official time! and had mention of another! hmmmmm whatEVER could this mean??? i know! i know! but will either of them even be inquisitor??? that's for me to know and you to find out!
> 
> [song](https://youtu.be/zsewvO75Mgw) (btw, if you have any songs that you think suit twots in either a thematic sense or if they just would sound nice, feel free to shoot 'em my way!)
> 
> elvish (majority non-canon)  
>  _Ma Sabraevhen’keeper?_ \- You're the Keeper of Clan Sabrae?  
>  _Ar Vir'era Sabrae. Tel’hanal’ghilan_ \- I'm Vir'era Sabrae. Not Hanal'ghilan.  
>  _Ma/ar elvhen_ \- You're/I'm elvhen


	3. how many scars does it take to break? one, two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long time between updates! esp considering how short these chapters are... i had some unfortunate Real Life Shit pop up that i had to deal with and focus on before i could manage to write a good chapter

_Leliana,_

_You’ve noticed by now how all the Circles are being rocked by the rebellion that started in Kirkwall, I’m certain, and I am also certain that you’re aware it will not end in the peaceful return of mages to how life was before. I hold no doubt that there will be war between mages and Templars, and that soon, nearly all the mages will follow Kirkwall’s lead._

_I know also that your Chantry’s Divine will hardly stand silently by for this. Perhaps it is forward of me, and perhaps it is unwise, but I wish to meet with her. You told me once that Divine Justinia is a reasonable woman, and rather more forward-thinking than her predecessors: I would like to see this for myself. I have a perspective on the things which happened that she might do well to hear, after all, and perhaps it is time for the Chantry and the Dalish to begin making peace…_

 

Try as we might, we could not always hide our clan, even after taking more care. The fourth month after our arrival, as we moved slowly southward, we were attacked once again. It nearly went the same way as when we had first been attacked, and I nearly didn’t worry—until a single Templar showed himself, and then we were in trouble. He was followed by a couple of men I could only assume were chevaliers.

It was chaos.

The Templar Cleansed the area immediately, and I became bereft of magic. Myrvaise, who had been at my side, panicked and ran back into the camp.

I did not fault her for fleeing. She would cause more trouble if she stayed and could not help. Still, as she ran from the fray, I pushed in, and I aimed for the Templar.

With Littlefoot in my hands, though I could not cast magic, I was able to block wayward swords and slam the short blade into unwary shemlen. As I grew nearer my target, though, I drew attention—there were fewer hunters and more shems. One laughed when I stood in his path to block him from the hunter he’d focused on, and his derision was his end; in the time it took for him to create a mocking comment, I used Littlefoot to bash his sword-hand and stab his throat.

I left him to die on the ground, but now I had the attention of a chevalier.

“A knife-eared mage who thinks he can fight!” he crowed. “Si amusant!”

“Bête,” I returned.

“Il parle la belle langue!” His laughter echoed through his helmet and around us. “Alors, lapin: en garde!”

He gave me that much warning before he made his move. But he, chevalier or not, was not used to fighting someone who did not use a sword, nor was he used to fighting someone who was both shorter than he and able to fight back. I did not have my magic, no, but I did not need it to kill him.

I caught his sword on Littlefoot’s shaft, let it push me down with the momentum, then swung around his side, lowering one side of my staff. His blade scraped along the fine finish, scratching Master Ilen’s hard work, and he lost his balance, tipping forward. I drew Littlefoot back and stabbed his exposed side; when he lost composure for this, I drew back again and stabbed his sword-arm inside his elbow.

He dropped the sword and screamed.

I gave him my best sneer. “Tu me menaces pas.” There was more bravery in that statement than in my veins, but such did not matter. What did matter was the fear in his eyes when I cut the backs of his knees and left him to bleed, knowing he could not stand and could not wield his sword. I could have made his death quick and killed him there. Perhaps I should have; it would have been the merciful thing.

I didn’t much care for being merciful to a murderer, though. Not one who would see me dead for having the audacity to exist. No, I wanted him to suffer. I wanted his last moments to be in pain—the kind of pain that scars you forever. The kind of pain my people had suffered for Ages.

And I wanted the Templar to join him.

The thing about fighting for your life regularly is that it gives you scars, both physical and metaphorical, and these scars are often very much visible to those who look. I had many—most were covered by clothing and kept quiet, but the scar on my jaw, the scars on my fingers, the scars that left me with battle-fury and focus… Those could be seen and observed.

Most Templars host a fear of mages and magic. They cling to their powers and trust that what abilities lyrium grants them will be enough to stave off magic, enough to make mages powerless before them. To their credit, it usually worked.

But I had trained to fight. I was not good at hand-to-hand, but I did not need to be. Almost no one except a mage dared to fight with a staff, and thus, almost no one knew how to counter one used for things other than magic. I needed not to be perfect, not even to be good, but simply to be more prepared than him.

I was not.

I reached the Templar with more ease after killing the chevalier; the shemlen parted for me, knowing none could defeat me in honorable combat even without my magic, and thus a had nearly a straight shot. But this gave the Templar time to consider, and he was much taller than me.

When I drew within striking distance, I jabbed the blade of my staff forward like a spear. He batted it away with ease, and continued with the grace of long practice to swing his sword round until it was hurtling to my head. I managed to dodge—but found myself trapped then by a different shem, his hold pinning my arms to my sides and Littlefoot to my chest.

“Un beau lapin,” said the shem who held me. “Mais les oreilles… eugh.”

“Je peux les réparer,” replied the Templar. He sheathed his sword and took out instead a short dagger—not something one would fight with, unless one was fighting a chipmunk. “Tenez-en un.”

“Je n’ai que deux mains.”

The Templar snorted. “Bien alors.” He grabbed my ear with one hand and kept the knife in the other, and then he began to cut. It hurt—of course it hurt—but I could not focus on that. With my arms trapped and the Fade cut away from me, I had only my legs, but with a knife so near such vital places as my neck… A reckless kick was more likely to injure me further.

The Templar was torturously slow in his cutting. I could feel the blade sinking down my ear, being pushed back and forth as he worked through the cartilage the way one might cut a tough steak. He could have made no progress or been nearly through; I could not tell through the pain.

If I could manage to hit my captor’s balls, I might—

“Vir’era!”

“Tamlen, no!”

Tamlen and Mheganni’s voices rang clear over everything, cutting through battle-sound and pain alike. Lightning struck the Templar down and jumped over me to the man holding me still. From the screams that followed, it must have hit all the shemlen who still stood. Fade-energy crackled alongside it, strong enough that even through the fog of the Cleanse, I could feel it—strong enough that as the arms around me spasmed and let go, a stray fissure of that pure energy touched me and restored my connection, my magic.

I spun to the voices I had heard, thinking perhaps Connor or one of the Kirkwall mages was with them—

It was only Tamlen and Mheganni. Mheganni had grabbed him up and now stood frozen, staring out at the skirmish, and Tamlen’s hands were outstretched, his face concerned and confused and shocked in equal measure. He was reaching for me.

“Ar dareth!” I shouted to him, knowing he would know the lie for what it was, knowing that he had just saved my life. “Gae ran!” I shooed them away. Mheganni spun around and dashed back into the camp, causing Tamlen to wail. He was only eight years old.

I looked at the remnants of the attack on our clan.

He was only eight years old, and already he had killed.

The Templar was unrecognizable as having even been human. The shem who had held me, too. In my own shock, I did not address my still-bleeding ear. I couldn’t feel it anymore. I started instead to pick over the bodies for survivors on either side.

Only one shem still lived: the chevalier I’d downed before. Tamlen had not killed all the others, no—of the eleven that had stormed us, five were charred remnants. Three had been felled by arrows, and two had their throats cut.

There would have been elves among the dead. Perhaps there should have been—but I found Junar, unconscious and bleeding, and I managed to heal him, and then I did the same for three others. It took all my energy to bring Arshil from the edge. He’d taken a sword to his stomach, and there was so much blood…

Ellana had to pull me away from him. I couldn’t hear her words, but I knew them to be true: he would live, and I had exhausted myself. I had to let someone else take over. As soon as my attention was not preoccupied with ensuring the continued life of my clan, though, I passed out.

My ear had to begin healing the long way around. The scar didn’t affect my hearing, but I would never forget that night.

 

_…therefore I would like to hire the mercenaries named Adaar. My clan can pay them for their services, though it may be in untraditional methods. Food, shelter, weapons, armor—these we can guarantee with much more ease than gold. If this is agreeable, my clan will be near to the town of Sahrnia in one month’s time. I will be in the town for three nights: the nights of, preceding, and following the full moons._

_I am agreeable to discussion on the matter of payment. I do not currently know how long I would like to hire for; this can also be discussed._

_Thank you._

_Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small note: i know i hadn't used it until, like, v recently, but i've always had it on my backburner that vee does, in fact, speak french (and therefore orlesian) on some level (probably intermediate), mostly bc i do. so, now that we're in orlais, it's showing up! yay!
> 
> if anyone has better french skills and notices a mistake, please let me know.
> 
> french translations:   
> si amusant! - how amusing!  
> Bête - stupid, but it also means 'beast,' so it's kind of a double entendre!  
> Il parle la belle langue! Alors, lapin: en garde! - he speaks the beautiful language! (orlesian) then, rabbit: en garde!  
> Tu me menaces pas. - you don't threaten me/you're no threat to me. tbh i feel like this is a shit translation? as in, i think it's not a good french sentence. idk. my french is good, but not great. (the lack of 'ne' is intentional here but if that's not acceptable even in slang, the way i was told it is, i will happily fix it)  
> Un beau lapin. Mais les oreilles… eugh. - a beautiful rabbit. but those ears...eugh.  
> Je peux les réparer. Tenez-en un. - i can fix that. hold one.  
> Je n’ai que deux mains - i only have two hands  
> Bien alors - fine then
> 
> elvish:  
> ar dareth! - i'm safe  
> gae ran! - equivalent to 'get out of here'


	4. ADAAR

_Castor,_

_Within the year, I will come to visit Vigil’s Keep. I’ll let you know when later. There is much I need to tell you—things you must know, for the safety of all involved. I cannot commit the words to paper, lest they be intercepted, but trust me in this, please._

_I know you are searching for a cure. Continue looking. It’s important, for so very many reasons. I will tell you when I see you._

_You will surely need to travel in your search; if something happens—if I cannot manage to see you before you leave—bring everyone you can along with you. Every Warden you can take, anyone you do not need to remain at the Keep, bring them. Even if it is a small army when you are done. Even if it is hard to know why. It will be better that way…_

 

I began to train Tamlen nightly. I could not train him during the day, because I needed to help pull the aravels as we traveled further southward to Sahrnia. After Sahrnia, we would cross the mountains into Ferelden—such paths were rarely used by shemlen, and should be safer than the main roads that we had left further north.

But first, there was Sahrnia.

Tamlen, understandably fearful of his newfound magic after its violent emergence, refused to leave my side. I could not send another in my place to await the Adaars, but if I tried to leave Tamlen—even if I left him with his mother and the mages—he became inconsolable. I had to bring him.

None of us were comfortable with that. Mheganni and Ineria both insisted on joining me. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t.

It was, therefore, with relief that I saw a pair of qunari leaning against the wall of one of the outermost buildings. A few of the Orlesian townsfolk stared openly at them; none approached. The woman qunari, shorter than the man by only a few inches and barely less broad, stared at me when I walked directly to them.

“Andaran atish’an,” I greeted, inclining my head with a smile. Perhaps not the most appropriate phrase, as we were all strangers here, but I had been the one to invite them. “Are you the Adaars?”

“Yeah,” said the woman. She spared a glance at Charybdis, who stood obediently at Mheganni’s feet. “You’re the… Keeper?”

“I am. My name is Vir’era, and I’m the Keeper of Clan Sabrae.” Both sets of eyebrows went up some. To be fair, though, even the woman was at least a head taller than me. “May I know your names?”

The woman’s head tilted, but she complied. “Kumbukani. This is my little brother, Adegoke. Your letter said you wanted to hire us as guards, in exchange for food and shelter, maybe some gear. How much food?”

“As much as you need, and then some, if we can spare it.”

“What kind of shelter?”

“The same we use ourselves. Our aravels may be small for you, but we have space you could sleep and store your things.”

“What kind of gear?”

“The finest Dalish craftsmanship you can ask for. Any weapons or armor you need replacing while working for us, we will gladly replace. When the time is finished, we will also make for you what we can spare, to be used or sold at your leisure. Our craftsmaster, Master Ilen, would make each piece for you specifically. After all, a chestplate made for an elf is unlikely to fit a qunari.”

Kumbukani looked to her brother, then. Neither had made any significant movement during the entire exchange, simply listening to the words I said.

“How long?” Adegoke asked. His voice was softer than I expected—more akin to cotton than steel. (Kumbukani, though—she was steel through and through.)

“I don’t know,” I answered. “More than a month. Perhaps more than a year, if you are amenable. Normally, our clan would be capable of protecting itself, but we’re in an unusual situation. We came from Sundermount—I had been staying in Kirkwall. There are humans with us.”

“Kirkwall?” Kumbukani shifted and looked at Adegoke.

He sighed. “The mages there destroyed the Chantry. Might have caused a war.”

“That’s… not entirely true,” I hedged. “Only one mage did that. My… friend. He’s not with us, but since he was my friend, well. It’s not unlikely that I will bring trouble for my clan.”

“So that’s why you want us.” Kumbukani squinted at me. “And what do you think about mages? Gotta know.”

I half-smiled. “Well, I am one, for whatever that’s worth. As are some of the humans with us. I will not return them to the Circle, though; if you intend to, then our business is complete.”

She snorted. “Nah, that’s not really my style. Be a bit hypocritical if I did.”

She didn’t say she was an apostate, but with so many shemlen listening nearby, I didn’t blame her. Perhaps I should not have said such, either, but I would not be here long enough for it to matter.

“Will you take my offer, then?” I asked.

She and Adegoke exchanged another long look. He shrugged, and she mirrored him before turning back to me. “Sure. But fair warning: this guy eats a _lot_.”

 

That night, Feynriel visited my dreams. “My Magister has been hearing troubling rumors,” he said. “He didn’t tell me what exactly he heard, but he did say to be on the lookout. Tevinter purists are on the rise.”

My hand clenched on the spindly handle of the teacup I held. Aromatic spices filled the air, but could not calm me. “You must be careful,” I told him. He gave me a look drier than desert air. “These purists are more dangerous than others who have come before. They have a leader unlike any seen in this Age.”

“You know of them?” He was frowning now.

I hummed. “To an extent. Warn Varania. She will be in danger. Alexius…” I only knew that Felix would contract Blightsickness. Not when. “Alexius will be tested. I don’t want her to be hurt for that.”

“What are you talking about? How do you know this?” To his credit, Feynriel didn’t recoil, didn’t begin an angry interrogation—he leaned forward, in fact.

I had been hiding the truth for so long. So few knew. My eyes lost focus on the dream-room around us, turning it into blissful nothing. The teacup dissipated from my hands. “It’s something I’ve known for a long time. There is very little I can do about it. I know more than I can take care of, so I picked my battles. I chose my people.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Ir abelas, lethallin. It’s a hard thing to explain. I don’t even know that I can anymore. I’ve forgotten too much. I… can only do so much. There are so many people I cannot help.”

“You’ve helped so many. Whatever you mean… whatever this is…”

I woke up before I could hear the rest of his words.

 

_…désolée, Vir’era. Her Holiness can’t make the time to see you now. You understand why, of course. If you could come to Val Royeaux, it might be different. I understand why you cannot, though. You must go where your gift leads you, no? It is what you have always done._

_It has yet to fail. I believe it is the Maker’s will that you and the Divine not yet meet. You will, someday. I’m sure of it. It would only be right._

_Leliana_

_P.S. – Do not worry. Though I tracked you to send this letter, I cannot spare the resources to continue, nor do I have any reason to. When you leave Sahrnia, you will be safely lost once more, and any further letters will be sent to Redcliffe, as you asked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the collection begins! first, adaar. Next..... B)


	5. mama mia!!

_Magister Gereon Alexius,_

_I do not know if this letter will reach you in time. I hope that it does._

_Speak to the Grey Wardens to save your son. He cannot be un-Blighted, but there is a chance he can live. The Grey Wardens will know how—but they will require his service in exchange._

_Do not interrupt the flow of time to fix what the world already can change…_

 

“You came here before fetching and reading my letters? Really, Vir’era?” Mia huffed and crossed her arms at me. “I’m a bit disappointed. It’s not like they’re even far now. Maybe a day’s ride north.”

“Ir abelas,” I said to her, but I couldn’t help smiling.

She kept going as if I hadn’t spoken, arms uncrossing as she paced between the fire and the chairs in her home. “And you didn’t even let me know you were coming! You scared Tanner half to death—he thought some of those Kirkwall mages were bringing warships down on our town for some reason! Granted, he’s not the smartest man around, but you do know your landships are hardly small, don’t you?”

“Aravels. Yes, I know.” She was so animated, so unlike Cullen’s quiet stoicism. But her curly hair caught the firelight the same way, and her eyes were just as intense. I could almost imagine him standing in this very room with us—ah.

He’d hardly be pleased with me, though. I pushed the thought of him out of my mind as I had since leaving Kirkwall. I didn’t have time for regret. (I had too much time for regret.)

“…and after that letter—do you have _any_ idea how worried I was? I’ll go grey before I’m even married at this rate!” She huffed again and poked at the stew on the fire. “You’re staying for dinner.”

“Mia, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Couldn’t possibly leave when I’ve just told you you’re staying, that’s right.” She glanced at Tamlen, who was silently clinging to my side, and gave a soft smile. “Sorry, little one. I’m a bit cross with your Keeper here, but you’re just fine.”

Tamlen looked at me, and when I smiled, he asked Mia, “Are all shemlen so loud?”

On Tamlen’s other side, Mheganni snorted, even as I sighed. Mia, a credit to all humans, grinned at the question. “Only when we’re cross.” She pulled the spoon from her stew to taste it. “Anything you can’t or won’t eat? Stew’s got beef, potatoes, carrots, milk, onion, some herbs for taste.”

“It sounds and smells wonderful,” I said.

She gestured at Charybdis, laying on the floor at Mheganni’s feet. “I haven’t got anything just for foxes, but there’s some rabbit holes out back she’s welcome to raid. Just as long as she doesn’t go after our chickens.”

“She doesn’t hunt. But I will tell Revas. He will bring enough for both.” I could see Mia trying to remember if she’d met a Revas as Mheganni walked to the window. Revas alighted on the sill, and Mia nodded slowly, like it all made perfect sense, when Mheganni gave some quiet instructions to the owl. (Revas truly was extraordinarily intelligent, especially for an owl—while he wasn’t quite as good as a mabari, he knew enough to be impressive.) Mheganni turned back, tapping the sill and pointing outside. Charybdis jumped out. “They will eat outside.”

Mia nodded. “Uh, thanks.”

For a beat, there was silence. Then, Mia looked at me again. “Since you’re here, I suppose I might as well tell you what’s been happening. Might make the letters moot, but there’s no use in sending you all the way up to Redcliffe just to save some breath.”

“It’s not so far—I can—”

“Oh, hush. I’m not so angry. Mostly just peeved that it’s been most of a year and you didn’t get even one of my letters.” She sat down in the chair nearest the fire, then began. “First, you should know that Cullen sent me a letter to ask if I’d heard from you. There were other things in the letter, but the first thing he asked was if you’d written to me at all.”

The words wrapped around me, and I went still. I needed to know more—needed to know that Cullen didn’t hate me, that he… I wanted to know he had worried, I realized. I wanted to know he valued me. (But of course I wanted that; he was a dear friend, someone who knew so much about me and had not turned from me before. Of course I wanted to know this would not change that.)

“You know well I only had that one letter, and it had me worried sick, but whatever it was you said to him last apparently had him in even more of a tizzy. He said he even asked your friends from Kirkwall, the ones he could find, but they stonewalled him.” She crossed her arms, her face going just as stoic as Cullen’s, and, Creators, they looked so very alike that my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. He had made that face at me more than once in the past. “Supposedly no one actually knows where you are. Or no one did.”

I pulled my tongue free. “It’s true,” I said. “They don’t know. It’s intentional.”

“I figured.” She sighed. “He did tell me what your friend did. But he also told me what you did. I can’t say I know for sure what he thinks about it—letters don’t really show emotion, and Cullen has changed so much since…” Her lips thinned, and her jaw clenched. “Well. I can’t say for sure, but I know he respects you. I know he’s worried. And I think there might be a bit more to it than that.”

“Ma serannas.” What it all meant, exactly, I could figure out later. It was enough, for now, to know he was worried, to know that he didn’t hate me—that he probably even missed me, just as I missed him. The knowledge embraced me, strong arms lending comfort and strength, and I relished in it before asking her to continue. “What else have I missed?”

“On the non-Cullen end of things, you mean? Well, in two weeks’ time, Tanner and I will be married; since you’re here, I fully expect you to be in attendance, especially since the mess you left in Kirkwall made it so Cullen can’t come…”

 

_…but something bigger is coming. The south’s Mage-Templar war will hardly reach Par Vollen, much like the Blight barely even left Ferelden. Not this. I don’t know how much of it will reach north of Tevinter, but I know it starts there, among Tevinter purists. Be careful, my friend._

_I fear that the events to come will rend our friendship. Your duty to the Qun is not something I question or wish to challenge, but my duties to my people and the knowledge I have may force us into opposition we did not ask for. Ir abelas, ma falon._

_When the time comes, I will meet with the mercenary known as the Iron Bull. This is where we may have trouble. I shall help as I can, but I do not know how much aid I can be._

_I pray Alistair will not trouble you overmuch. Varric is slick with words; Isabela is more trouble than you need. Let them be if you can._

_I wish I could help more._

_Dareth shiral, Arishok._

_Keeper Vir’era Sabrae_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting close to a reveal that i have been fucking waiting for since like........ chapter four. of The Blight. it's been three fucking years i am so desperate to spill the beans i hope it's both surprising and not


	6. luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE BEEN WAITING..... SO LONG.......... FOR THIS................................. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND I HOPE IT MAKES AS MUCH SENSE TO YOU AS IT DOES TO ME (if it doesn't please tell me what i can do to make things make more sense, or at least tell me what it is that doesn't make sense)

_Warden-Commander Clarel,_

_This message is far too early, but I beg you to hear me still: do not heed a Calling that reaches everyone. Such is impossible to be true, and you surely know this. Be wary of blood magic that claims it is the solution, and yet more wary of magisters who consort with demons._

_Those who know too much are more than they would have you believe. Do not let them deceive you…_

 

I expected to meet some trouble when approaching Redcliffe. I didn’t bother to hide my clan, and we pulled our aravels on the main road for the first time since Jader. But we met no trouble; there was some hesitance, some confusion… but no seething hatred, no confrontation.

Arl Teagan himself met me at the gates of Redcliffe after my clan had made camp nearby. “Champion,” he said, with a smile I had not thought I would see, “welcome back to Redcliffe. It has been a long time.”

“Arl Teagan,” I answered, matching his smile. “Thank you. I’m happy to return. I hope this is not a bad time.”

“Not at all. Is there something I can help you with?” He made a gesture towards the aravels that could be seen clearly from where we stood, though the clan was distant enough not to be heard. You have my word that neither you nor your clan will see any trouble in Redcliffe, and if you wish to trade, our people would be more than happy.”

“If it isn’t trouble, I would like to pick up the letters you were so kind to keep waiting for me,” I said, then glanced to the side, just beyond where Teagan would think to look, “and there are a few who have traveled with me that could use a more secure place to stay, if you and Redcliffe are amenable.”

His eyebrows raised at me, and his head tilted to the side. “May I inquire who it is that can find better help with us than with you?”

With a gesture, I summoned forward Cynthia and the few Kirkwall mages who had been traveling this past year with my clan. “I brought them with me from Kirkwall. They could not stay anymore; of them, only Cynthia is not a mage.” I introduced them, starting with Myrvaise, and last… Connor, who stood at the back, had his eyebrows pulled so tightly together they looked like one. “I believe you’ll remember your nephew, though I understand it has been years since last you saw him.”

“Connor?” Teagan peered at Connor’s dark hair, and in moments, a smile overtook his face. “It is you! Your parents and I have been so worried; they received your letter that you were fine, but nothing since, and with the news from Kirkwall…”

Connor opened and closed his mouth several times without making any sounds, but I saw tears collect like jewels in his eyes. Teagan smiled so fondly at him and drew him close for a hug that Connor returned with enough gusto as to make his uncle let out a small, smiling wheeze. “I-I’m so sorry, Uncle Teagan…”

Teagan squeezed him. “Don’t fret.” He pulled back, hands on Connor’s shoulders, and Connor put his own hands around Teagan’s. “You’re welcome in Redcliffe, of course. Your friends, as well.”

“B-but—after… Won’t they be cross with me?” Connor’s voice was barely more than breath in these words, and the pain in them wrapped around my heart. Only by force of will did I keep my arms from holding Connor to me and assuring him he would be safe.

“Perhaps there will be some who are, yes,” Teagan admitted, the words like a razor wrapped in cloth, “but there are few enough who would question the trust placed in you when they know that both one of their Champions and I have forgiven you the mistake of a desperate child.”

I doubted they would remember me as the Guerrins did; I’d had no contact with the townsfolk since leaving during the last days of the Fifth Blight. The only other person I had written to regularly in the Hinterlands was Mia, and Honnleath was far enough south that surely any rumors from her letters would become inconsequential here. Still, it was true enough that I was a Champion, and perhaps that would be enough.

Connor gave a smile that barely curved his lips, and Teagan held his face for just a moment before turning to the group again. “First, allow me to show you to the castle. I will arrange for rooms for our guests, and, Vir’era, if you would follow me to my study, I will gladly hand over your letters. You received quite a few, you should know.”

 

He was right. In all, I had received perhaps thirty letters—some were the same person writing multiple times, with shorter and shorter lines. None were terribly shocking, but I surely still had a pile of likely similar size waiting in Denerim. Most whose letters might shock me would have sent their letters there or to Vigil’s Keep. Now that I saw the sheer amount I managed to miss in less than a year of seclusion, I knew it would be difficult to maintain such distance.

There were letters from my Kirkwall friends; Malia sent a few that told me nothing of where she was, but did tell me about the many squabbles Anders and Fenris had when confined in close quarters—and how they seemed to have worked past their most divisive differences. Garrett sent exactly one, apparently after having reached Antiva. Varric sent a few grandiose tales of the mishaps he got into, including a very new one about meeting King Alistair, and one short, old note about the Cadash family.

Isabela and Merrill sent a joint letter in which Merrill gushed about sea life and Isabela advised me to call her ‘Admiral.’ Anders sent two, and while one was barely more than a postcard wishing me well, the other was nearly a secondary manifesto on everything he hated about traveling, _and I miss you so very much, Vee, you have no idea—Garrett is wonderful and Malia is hilarious, but there’s no replacing the one who lived in the sewers with me._

Sebastian, like Garrett, sent only one, answering a question I had asked regarding the Trevelyans, and telling me about his progress as Prince of Starkhaven. Aveline sent three letters: the first asked if I was aware that some in Kirkwall thought me dead, the second asked if I was aware that Cullen had been asking her about my location, and the third was a demand that I answer my letters, dammit, dated two months ago.

And, yes, there were other letters—things from Vigil’s Keep, from Varania and Feynriel, even a very confused reply from Shale, who had not tried to contact her living descendants, as they were hardly about to be representative of the Cadash family she had come from, so what was the point?—but there was one letter in particular that I paused on and found myself holding tight enough to press the heat and moisture of my fingers into the paper, warping its shape even before I dared open it.

_Littlefoot_ , it was addressed. _Redcliffe Castle, Ferelden._ Red wax sealed it, stamped with the unmistakable shape of Hessarian’s flame-wreathed blade—the symbol of the Templar order. The weight of it pulled my hands down to the table, and I settled it on the surface. The edges, too, had been sealed shut with red wax, and I didn’t know what to make of that.

I traced the letters. It was Cullen’s handwriting, and it told me nothing. He had done as I asked: he had not addressed the letter with my name. But that could mean any number of things. It felt so heavy, and the waxed edges ensured none could peer into the contents, but it was not heavy for the pages it contained. There was only one page. Its heft came instead from a lump that made a circular indentation to one side.

The candle I had been given was visibly lower by the time I picked up a knife and began to carefully scrape away the wax, peeling it away as carefully as I could to avoid damage to the parchment. It was not quick work.

 

_Vir’era,_

_I believe you, and—for whatever it’s worth—I do not blame you. You had no more chance of stopping an abomination than I did of stopping Meredith. I do not like what happened. I do not like that you were involved. But your letter said there is more you could not write down, and I trust you. Meredith often said that mages cannot be trusted, but she was wrong. Much of what she said was. I regret I could not see it sooner, that I could not help you._

_I will hold you to your promise: when we see each other again, I expect you to tell me everything. I can wait. I know you can’t come back to Kirkwall now. You need to protect your clan; it is a duty I respect._

_Know that I worry for you. If this war becomes as all-encompassing as you believe it will, there may be no safe place. I know you are capable, and I am sure your clan is not helpless, but still I worry. I have included a token for you. It’s silly, I know, and it’s just a coin, but my brother told me once that it was lucky, and it has seen me through much. I hope it can help you as it helped me, until I see you again._

_Until then—keep it, and bring it back to me. I’ll be waiting._

_Cullen_

 

I read the letter four times before I believed it could possibly be true, my fingers pressing against the ink, against my name written in Cullen’s careful hand, against Cullen’s own signature—and against the gift that had caused the weight, sealed to the parchment with wax so it would not be lost: a single golden sovereign, its grooves dark with age and its image worn bright from rubbing, worried fingers not so unlike my own.

My hands shook as I peeled it slowly from the wax, and I cried as I pressed it to my heart, hard enough that even the eroded impression left its reflection on my skin. What it meant, exactly—why he would trust me with this—I could not fully comprehend, but I knew… He was precious to me, and this gift, this _forgiveness_ , was not something I could ever forget.

And I knew something else, too, something I had not dared to allow myself in Kirkwall, something I had not dared even ponder in the deepest recesses of my waking mind:

_Ma vhenan Cullen him._

He could not know—I would not tell him. Not now. Perhaps not ever. When we met again, I would owe him an explanation, and I would need to return his favor and his trust. I would tell him everything I knew, everything I was and all that I wasn’t, and hope he might forgive me again, but I would not burden him with so much as my friendship until he knew my oldest secret, and even then—even then, I would let him lead. He had had so little choice in his life the last few years. I would give him all the choice I could manage.

And all the help I was able, too. I allowed myself to kiss his coin, then I put it in one of the hidden pouches on my belt, where it would be neither lost nor confused for a standard coin I might spend.

From another pocket, I pulled out a small geode—the very geode that Sandal had once given me in the Deep Roads, before even Bartrand’s betrayal. I had kept it with me for years, and though I rarely thought of it, I had studied the runes carved with precision into its edges, and I knew what it did. Sandal had known me during the Fifth Blight, had seen me wake from nightmares on the Deep Roads Expedition, and had given me that small geode after I had suffered a panic attack. The runes projected calm, healing, and protection.

I had needed it very badly at first.

Now, though… I could not remember the last time I had panicked. Oh, life was still imperfect, and I was hardly a perfectly calm person, but my anxiety did not impede my daily life any longer. I knew how to handle it. I knew how to alter its course. I could survive without the geode, might not even notice its absence.

Cullen needed help, though. I could do very little with miles and secrets separating us, but I could do this much. My finger traced over the runes, recharging them with a small pulse of mana that left the gems gently glowing. I took out my brush and began to write.

 

_Cullen,_

_There are not words enough in the world to describe how grateful I am, how deeply I hope to repay your kindness to me, how much you have touched my life._

_There is nothing you could have done to stop Meredith; you need not regret believing the words she said. She was your commander. You should have been able to trust her. You are a good man, despite it all, and I cannot help but be humbled that you would be so patient with me when I have kept such secrets from you._

_I will treasure your lucky coin until I can safely return it. I know Kirkwall can hardly be calm now, so I hope you will accept this gift, to comfort you when you most need it. It is enchanted by the most talented runesmith I have ever met, and when all is bleak, I hope it will help you to see the light in life._

_You helped me to see the light in mine._

_Be well. I will see you again._

_Vir’era_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> elvish:  
>  _Ma vhenan Cullen him._ \- Cullen became my heart./My heart became Cullen's. [crafted by me, and i'm not 100% sure on elvish grammar, but bioware makes it all up anyway, so]


	7. trick boxes are just a lot of fun and i really like them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off! sorry that i took so long! i got sick for like an entire fucking week and i couldn't do much more than whine about it and eat poorly (bc i was also working and just... bad times my friends).
> 
> second! if you're interested, i've put up a quick lil expository one-shot for [driscoll trevelyan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397186) over in missing moments. just sth to give you a taste of who he is prior to his official introduction. i'll be writing one at some point soon for my cadashes, too, and even though i already have a bit of a thing for my lavellans, i might write another.
> 
> third! if you have discord, please consider joining [my twots/dragon age discord server](https://discord.gg/4xjhgEQ)! i don't bite! i'll be making announcements there for every chapter as it's uploaded, missing moments uploads, and some playlists i make, like [this vir'era one](https://open.spotify.com/user/12167524087/playlist/00WFTTzcIi5xtiKsjBZCRj).
> 
> thanks! hope you like this chapter! it's unedited and unbeta'd as of right now. if i need to change something, i will, and i'll be sure to mention that it was edited both on the discord and in the next chapter's author's notes.

_To Driscoll Trevelyan, Enchanter in Ostwick Circle,_

_Greetings. I am Vir’era, the Keeper of Clan Sabrae. Though I know my name will mean little to you, I hope you will read my letter regardless. I have a proposition for you that I should think would benefit us both._

_Since the destruction of Kirkwall’s Chantry and the subsequent rise of many Circle-bound mages into rebellion, much has been thrown to disarray. My clan knows little of the Circles or, indeed, of humans at all, but I have reason to believe you might be of help to us. I have sent a letter to your brother, Jewel, as well…_

 

It took months more after Redcliffe for my clan to reach Denerim, and by that point, it was already 9:39 Dragon. We spent time among the Dalish near Ostagar that slowed our movement, but I did not regret it.

Unlike when we went to Redcliffe, Kumbukani and Adegoke refused to allow me to go into Denerim without one of them. Tamlen, at least, could be persuaded to stay behind; it had been long enough that he was not so terrified of leaving my side. I took Adegoke with me; Kumbukani was a mage, and though she had very little formal education on magic, she was much better-equipped to help Tamlen should something happen.

(Nevermind that nothing had happened since he began studying under me.)

Mheganni, too, was persuaded to stay behind, though her discomfort with it was obvious. We compromised: she sent Revas with me, flying overhead. I expected no trouble in Denerim, but I was in the minority, and Revas could at least send for help if I was proven wrong.

Denerim was… beautiful. It wasn’t quite back to being whole, despite the near-decade since the Archdemon had led its horde here, but it was thriving, its people hardly allowing the few reminders left to slow them down. I passed an empty expanse where buildings had once stood, and though the rubble had been removed, nothing yet replaced that which had been lost.

Adegoke and I drew attention. Qunari were not entirely anomalous in a city this large, but they were hardly common, and even less common alone. Elves weren’t generally given second thought, but I wore my ceremonial Keeper’s robes today. I was presenting myself to the King and Queen, after all; I needed to look my best.

A guard stopped us as we drew near the Royal Palace. “State your business,” she said. She was too young to have fought during the Blight; she would not recognize my face.

“I am Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae,” I answered, “and this is my friend, Adegoke Adaar. I am here to speak with the King and Queen.”

“Vir’era?” she repeated, frowning. That she was able to repeat my name so readily told me that Alistair (or perhaps Capella) had taught it to the guards. “Don’t lie to me. Vir’era Sabrae is a Grey Warden.”

“And I was, but my clan needed me more than the Order. Warden-Commander Castor Cousland accepted my resignation.” I glanced up at the palace doors. “Please, I must speak with them.”

She looked uncertain still, but relented. “Follow me. I will bring you to my commander; if he believes you are who you say you are, you may continue.”

Her commander, thankfully, believed me easily, and brought me to the throne room where Alistair and Capella were holding audience. A few banns, an arl, and several commoners were also waiting to address the couple, who sat upon their thrones looking regal and— _oh!_

Sitting on Alistair’s lap, chewing on one tiny, balled fist… was a baby. A baby with wispy auburn hair and the most serious expression on its tiny face. A baby that removed its slobbery hand long enough to babble something when the current supplicant finished speaking, which Alistair then handily ‘translated.’ A _baby_.

So surprised and entranced was I by this unexpected development, I paid absolutely no heed to anything until the herald announced me to the court. (I had known the pair was trying for a child, and I had known they were seeking unorthodox methods, but I had not known they had succeeded.) “Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae, Champion of Ferelden and Redcliffe, and his bodyguard, Adegoke Adaar!” cried the herald.

I stepped forward with a smile that was returned twofold by my friends. From the corner of my eye, I saw Adegoke bow from his waist. I inclined my head in a deep nod, but bent my waist only enough to be seen. Though I loved and appreciated Alistair and Capella, they were not my monarchs. I was Dalish; I had no monarch.

Someone muttered about my disrespect, but Alistair and Capella did not stop smiling. “Vir’era,” Alistair said, “it’s been too long. We wish you had told us you were coming; We could have prepared a room for you, or received you elsewhere.”

“It’s no trouble,” I assured him, an amused smile teasing at my lips from his use of the royal ‘we.’ It was not something I had expected. “It is better that I spend my nights with my clan; they are not far from the city. I came to speak with you.”

“We will offer full protection to Clan Sabrae; you may make camp as near as you like,” Capella declared, nodding to a guard at one side of the room. He gave a salute and left the room. “Is the matter urgent, Vir’era? I would like to speak with you at length, if you’ve the time to wait until Our audience has concluded.”

“I have the time,” I said. “I wished only to make my presence known.”

Capella smiled, then lifted a hand. A well-dressed elven woman came forward. “Linela, please show Keeper Vir’era to Our office. Vir’era, there are letters waiting for you there. You may find them in the puzzle box.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, and Capella’s smile widened. “Puzzle box?”

The baby on Alistair’s lap babbled. Alistair nodded solemnly. “He says puzzle boxes are more secure than locked ones. Also, we can tell you the solution, if you want.”

Laughing, I put a hand up. “I think I’ll try my hand at this puzzle box first. If I’ve not solved it when you come to speak with me, I will concede defeat.”

“It’s not so difficult,” Capella said, cheeky smirk still lifting her red lips. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

 

Though I had little mind for tactics, as my many, many losses to Cullen in chess would attest, puzzles were much easier. Adegoke helped some, as well, and between the two of us, we had the puzzle box open within a half-hour. It was a Rivaini specialty, these puzzle boxes, and Isabela had once shown me hers. I was familiar with the methods.

The letters that had collected here were around the same in number as those that had collected in Redcliffe, but with far more important seals protecting their contents. The seal of Orlais held shut not one but _two_ separate letters (albeit in different hand), and the seal of the Grand Enchanter was present on another. Among these were also letters from my friends in the Wardens, and a few miscellaneous notes from around Thedas.

Varric, clever as he was, had even sent a note here—or perhaps had sent it back with Alistair. Neither would shock me. This note asked for more information on why I was being so dodgy with letters. I could not yet answer it. Varric deserved to know, though. Just as Cullen did. Perhaps at the Conclave… Still, I’d tell Cullen first. It was favoritism, but I didn’t care.

One of the letters bearing the Orlesian seal was, in fact, from Briala. It was shorter than Morrigan’s letter, and could be summed up simply as such: _By your own words, even you should be untrustworthy._ It did not surprise me. With luck, she would at least consider what I had said… as would Celene. Time alone could tell now.

The other Orlesian letter was from Morrigan. A good deal was written in elven, but that which I had been most interested in was in common: _Daylen set course for Vigil’s Keep even as I approached the Empress. By the time you read this, he will have arrived._

I could tell everyone all at once, then. Good. I just needed to convince Capella to go, as well. Or at least warn her what would happen if she chose to stay… The baby on Alistair’s lap may mean she would be unwilling to stray far, and I would not blame her.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Alistair and Capella entered the room then. The baby was now in Capella’s arms, and from this close I could see the color of its eyes: the same golden-brown Alistair bore. I had no doubt this was their child.

“I see you figured out the box,” Alistair said, then sighed and turned to Capella. With the air of something that had been said many times before, he told her, “You were right, I was wrong. I’ll ask the cook for the Orlesian pastries.”

She smiled at him, and they sat in the chairs by the fireplace. I turned to Adegoke, not enjoying the words I was about to say, but knowing he could not remain. “Adegoke, would you please wait outside the door? I need to discuss something privately with the King and Queen.”

He frowned, but nodded without complaint, and slipped out of the room. Both Capella and Alistair were watching me intently as I joined them in sitting. I didn’t avoid them or the matter at hand. “Something is coming. I don’t know when, but it will not be long now.”

Alistair’s hand reached out to cradle around the baby. “What is it?”

“Evil,” I said, simply. It was the truth. “The worst that magic can do or become. I—I have few details, but they are not relevant. What you must know is that when it comes, all Wardens will hear the Calling—a _false_ Calling.”

Capella went so still in her seat that the baby turned to look, and when she did not offer immediate comfort, its face wobbled. Alistair swept it up to hold against his chest, preventing any cries. She put her hand on his leg, eyes unblinking as she watched me. “You are certain it is—will be—false.”

“Yes.” I had no information to suggest otherwise.

She looked at Alistair, then back to me. “Neither of us can leave right now,” he said. “We both left the Wardens. Half of Denerim doesn’t even believe we were ever truly Wardens at all. It’s not ideal, but if the Calling is false anyhow…”

“Will we be safe, if we stay?” Capella asked.

Truthfully, I was not entirely sure, but I had no reason to believe they would be in any greater danger for staying. “I believe so. So long as you do not seek out the source of the false Calling and do not take greater risk than normal…”

“Well, it’s not like we intend to get into life-threatening situations,” Alistair said. They both waited a moment, and when I settled back ever-so-slightly, he brought the baby back down into his lap. “Premonition time over?”

“For now, yes, though I’ve had less and less knowledge as the years have passed. Soon, I will have no more than anyone else.” I gave a half-smile, then let it grow to a full one as I looked to the infant. “Would you be so kind as to introduce me to this gorgeous little one?”

Alistair’s grin was so full of sunlight that the candles were unnecessary. “This,” he said with all the pride a father might feel, “is Princess Cassiopeia Rowan Dorothea Anya Theirin.”

“Named to honor Queen Rowan, Divine Justinia, and Paragon Anya,” Capella added. “I initially thought to honor Empress Celene, as well, but we thought it would not be appreciated in the manner intended by the rest of Ferelden’s nobility.”

“And I think three middle names is more than enough,” Alistair confided. “I’ve heard horror stories about kids saddled with fifteen…”

 

_…I sent a letter to your brother, Driscoll, as well. I hope my letter is not too presumptuous. I will meet you in the city of Amaranthine, should you choose to accept my offer. If you worry that I have already left the city, find the Grey Wardens. They can help._

_I hope you will come. I know there is little reason as yet to do as much, but I have heard rumors that I would be happy to clarify for you in person—things that have me concerned. Please, Ser Trevelyan, at least consider my words._

_Sincerely,_

_Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final note re:names/the princess - it's my understanding that old european royal families often gave their children multiple names to honor or otherwise tie themselves to people they thought were important, as a way of being like 'hey look, i think you're so great that i named my kid after you' (nevermind that it was a middle name). therefore, i chose names that would give little cassiopeia greater apparent connections to groups/people that are important in thedas. [cassiopeia, though, is just a name i find fun and pretty that fits with capella & castor's star theme.]


	8. baby steps.........baaaaaaaaaby steps.............

_Enchanter Rhys,_

_His name is Cole. He is like nothing else yet known to exist. He only wants to help. Show him how…_

 

By chance or by fate, Fiona and Wynne were in Denerim, too, passing through on their way to Kinloch Hold. I had the chance to sit with them while I was there.

Wynne hugged me like a proud grandmother, pressing a hand to my cheek as she pulled away. “You’ve changed so very much since the Blight,” she said. Her fingers traced the scar on my jaw for half a second before she removed her hand completely. “Life did not get any easier for you, did it?”

“I adapted,” I told her, smiling what I hoped was a reassuring smile. (My journal gave no specifics, but I knew… It would not be long. This was the last time I would see her.) “It’s—I can handle it better, now. I learned.”

“That’s good, then.” She then stood straight and gestured to Fiona. “I’d like to introduce you to Grand Enchanter Fiona. Fiona, this is Keeper Vir’era. I’ve told you about the work we did in the Blight.”

“You have,” Fiona said, inclining her head. I mirrored the motion. “I believe it is you I have to thank for suggesting that King Alistair and Queen Capella forge stronger relations with the Circles.” For connecting her to her son, she didn’t say, but I knew it nonetheless. “Though I admit I have questions about that letter you sent me.”

I had expected as much. “What do you want to know?”

“Where should I begin?” Though she smiled at me, I wondered how much she questioned what I had written. I had been less than subtle about the knowledge I had in my letters, and even if none yet knew what I did… it was only a matter of time. “You wrote as though you know more than you should have. Are you a spymaster as well as a Keeper?”

“No,” I said. I gestured at the chairs in the small parlor we had been granted to speak in. Wynne raised her eyebrows at me, and I nodded. “I have… a gift. It helped us during the Blight, and though there is less and less it has been able to tell me… There are some things that I just know.”

Fiona looked at Wynne. “You never mentioned this.”

Wynne shrugged. “It was not for me to say. You know as well as I do how strange magic is treated. I wanted to ensure he would be safe.”

Sharp eyes assessed me more carefully now. “And this gift is trustworthy?”

I nodded only once. “It was never wrong then, and to an extent it still has yet to be wrong—but I have learned how to manipulate what I glean to change outcomes in my favor.” I smiled just enough to notice. “It has saved at least one life. I believe it may yet save more.”

“Humble as ever,” Wynne murmured. “It was always a boon during the Blight. I firmly believe it saved more than just one life.”

Fiona leaned forward, still watching me. “I see. Then let us start with the obvious question: What drove Knight-Commander Meredith mad?”

“Power.” I held her gaze steadily, though one hand pressed to the hidden pocket in my belt where Cullen’s coin resided. “First the power of her command, and then the power of red lyrium…”

 

“You’re certain of this, Vir’era?” Castor asked me not a month later. “Red lyrium?”

“Yes. What remains of Meredith is still in Kirkwall, if you need proof. But I don’t know that you have the time.” 9:39 Dragon was drawing to a close far more quickly than I had anticipated. It had been two years since fleeing Kirkwall. If I was right, there would be less than two years before the Conclave. “But you might not have time.”

“Someone should go to Weisshaupt,” Neria said. “If what you’ve told us is true—and I’ve yet to have any reason to doubt you—they’ll want to know. They’ll need to.”

Anya shook her head. “Responses from Weisshaupt about anything have been slowing, and that lead on a cure won’t wait.”

“You know splitting up is an option, right?” Daylen said. “It’s not like we’re bringing everyone, anyway.”

Darrien snorted. “And, what, we leave someone else here to fight off whatever it is that’s coming, alone, while they wait for word back from Weisshaupt? Brilliant plan.”

“Mind control doesn’t usually involve a whole lot of fighting.” Still, Daylen did back down.

Castor caught my eyes. “Will Capella be safe if she stays?”

I didn’t know. “Now that she knows, she’ll be safe enough. It’s not perfect, maybe not even good, but… She should be fine. Most people don’t believe she was ever even a Warden nowadays, and I don’t think… Denerim is far enough east to be away from the worst of the trouble.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Anya, Theron… your leads both head west?”

“Far west,” Theron confirmed. “Past the Hissing Wastes.”

“You’ll be safe that far out,” I said. “The false Calling and the mind control have a limited range. But I don’t—I don’t know how safe anyone who stays at Vigil’s Keep will be.”

“We can’t just all up and leave,” Castor murmured, staring at a map on the wall. “It’d be suspicious. We’ll have to stagger it, start in different directions.”

“We can still send someone to Weisshaupt that way,” Theron said. “Maybe not one of us, but you’ve a lot of Wardens here, and Vir’era’s word is trustworthy enough even for the First Warden, I should think.”

Neria shifted forward. “We can send someone with a report on what Vir’era saw. The red lyrium and that prison. I’d suggest a small team. People we can trust, who would back up his claim.”

“There aren’t many who’ve had experience with him,” Castor said, “but there are a few. We’ll send Oghren, Sigrun, Brannen, and Maya.” He began tracing potential routes along the map with his fingertips. “We’ll have to work up the chain of command. Theron, you and Zevran will leave first—you’re outside official command enough. Follow your lead as directly as you can manage…”

They planned out everything, even having those on the ‘missions’ suddenly stop sending reports so as to allow for valid reasons to apparently chase after them. Anya, Faren, and Daylen would leave second, heading south first before making the trek west. When their reports stopped, Castor would send Nathaniel, Carver, and Velanna—then Neria and Darrien. He would leave last. There would still be senior Wardens, and the Seneschal could take over the arl’s duties.

I could only hope it would work as planned. I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t dare try.

I just wanted to save my friends.

 

_…Varric sends his regards to the entire Cadash family, but especially to you. If you would be so kind as to put me in touch with the scouts Emily and Elizabeth, I’m certain it will be worth your while. I’ve both a job and some information they may desire, and I will happily talk over the details with them in person._

_Send them to Highever. I will be near the city for the next full moons._

_Many thanks,_

_Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if my estimations are correct, there'll be at least two more chapters--and at most four. i'm expecting three, which will give us 11 total, like back during The Warden-Commander.
> 
> my update schedule will probably continue to be pretty sporadic and slow, especially when we get into Tarasyl'an Te'las, where i intend to return to the longer, more standard-style chapters. i _should_ have Keeper finished by about mid-late june. maybe sooner! but i'll be back in texas for a couple weeks during july, and pre-break i'll have a particularly packed schedule, so i can't say for sure when TT will be up.


	9. so a slut, a soldier, and a keeper walk into a bar...

_Leliana,_

_Don’t spend too long looking for Theron or the others. They’ll be out of reach. And Capella won’t leave the throne—Ferelden needs her, as do Alistair and little Cassiopeia. Even I don’t know where the Hawkes have gone, so tracing them too closely would be a waste, as well. Ask Cassandra to be nice to Varric. He responds better to honey than vinegar._

_Don’t worry overmuch. You won’t find who you were looking for, but you don’t need to. I will ensure it…_

 

Driscoll and Jewel Trevelyan were nothing like I expected, though I had not been certain even what to expect. I met them in Amaranthine as I promised, and Jewel bowed when he saw me. “Keeper Vir’era of Clan Sabrae,” he said, reciting the words. His pronunciation was terrible, but the attempt was admirable. “It is an honor.”

Driscoll began to follow Jewel’s lead, but I gently nudged them both to standing positions. “You need not bow to me; I am no shemlen king. A Keeper is a guide, not a monarch.”

The men exchanged a glance, and I wondered at their differences. Where Driscoll was fair-skinned, thin, and wore robes that looked better-suited to the bedroom than traveling, Jewel was none of those. Jewel’s skin was an earthy brown, his body thicker as any swordsman’s might be, and even in the relaxed atmosphere of the tavern, he wore armor. “As you say, Keeper. I am Jewel Trevelyan, and this is my elder brother, Enchanter Driscoll Trevelyan of Ostwick Circle.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” I said, gesturing that we should sit. “I am certain you must have some questions regarding why I contacted you.”

Jewel waited until Driscoll had chosen the seat by the window before taking the seat next to him. “We do,” Driscoll answered, twirling a finger along the rim of the cup of cider he already had. Frost coalesced on the metal. “But first, I want to know a bit more about you.”

I spread my hands, palms up. “Ask, and I shall answer.”

A slow smile creeped up Driscoll’s face. He leaned in, head tilted to the side in a way that let his orange hair slip like a curtain over his shoulder, drawing my eye to it. He shifted. The robe slid along his skin, baring nearly all his shoulder to the world. “Are you truly unaware of my little title? I would be quite surprised if so.”

“Driscoll,” Jewel murmured, though if it was exasperation or warning, I didn’t know. Driscoll only leaned further, showing off his neck as well now.

“I’ve heard of it,” I said. I wasn’t sure why it would be relevant. Somehow or another—Sebastian had not given me the entire story—Driscoll had become known as the ‘Slut of Ostwick Circle.’ I had not intended to mention it, but from the way Driscoll moved and the low smoothness of his voice, perhaps it was something he had cultivated.

He grinned at my confirmation. “And you’re unbothered. Is that a Dalish thing? Don’t answer; I don’t actually care, but I like it.” His eyes glanced down at what little of me was visible over the table. “Tell me more, and perhaps I will like you, too. You’re Dalish, but you are so easily familiar with human customs. Why?”

“I lived in Kirkwall for seven years.” That had both men raising their eyebrows. I smiled placidly. “Once, I was a Grey Warden. I left because my clan needed me more, and I had done enough for the Wardens. I know so much of humans because I have spent so much time among you; some of my greatest friends are human.”

“Kirkwall, though?” Jewel asked, one arm coming up to press into the wood of the table. “How long ago?”

“I left after Anders destroyed the Chantry.” Neither moved for a moment, faces gone slack. “That’s what you really wanted to know, isn’t it? And, yes, I knew him, and I knew the Champions, but I can speak of them later.”

Jewel looked at Driscoll, whose eyes had narrowed as he stared at me. When Driscoll said nothing, he asked, “What did you do for the Wardens that they let you leave?”

“I helped to end the Fifth Blight almost ten years ago.” Ten years. Creators, it felt like a lifetime. I was so different now. Would the person I had been even be able to recognize the person I now was?

Driscoll’s head righted itself. “You know, if I hadn’t already been asking around, I don’t think I’d believe you. Such an illustrious life you’ve led. It’s hard to believe you’re real.”

“Hardly illustrious. I was simply in the right place at the right time.” I shrugged. “I knew who to follow. Perhaps we should move on to the questions about my letter. Later, you can ask more about me. Are you amenable?”

Driscoll shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I can be patient.”

Jewel shifted forward, hand in a loose fist where it rested on the table. His dark eyes held me politely in place. “Most importantly, then: why us? You could have asked many here in Ferelden. With—with who you are, what you’ve done—surely you could have asked nigh anyone, and they would have been hard-pressed to refuse.”

“Yes.” My fingers sought Cullen’s coin, as they so often had since I received it. “What I will say may sound difficult to believe, and I do apologize for that, but I swear to you that I am speaking only the truth…”

 

“…you don’t even really know who we are, then?” asked Emily Cadash. She rapped her fingers against the wood table in sets of three, one eyebrow lifted high as she looked me up and down.

“In truth, I do not,” I admitted. “I know only what I’ve told you. All else I’ve learned about you in particular has come from Varric.”

She and her sister, Elizabeth, looked to each other. I watched them communicate with silent, minute shifts of their bodies and faces. They were twins, I had been told, but unlike Capella and Castor—who were near to mirror images of each other—Emily and Elizabeth looked only as much alike as any pair of siblings might.

Elizabeth twirled one of the shining beads in her beard; Emily tugged at her own unadorned one. “And what does Master Tethras know of us?” Elizabeth asked.

Almost nothing. “Your names.” I glanced at the end of the table, where a mabari sat, staring out at the rest of the patrons rather than at us. “Your mabari. What you seem to specialize in.”

Elizabeth hummed. Emily’s fingers continued tapping. “Then you know what kind of work we do,” Emily said, “and why we can’t just up and leave it because some elf who thinks he’s a hot-shot said so.”

“I do.”

A pause. “Not gonna give us anything else?” Emily’s fingers stopped tapping their arrhythmic beat, and she planted both her hands on the table. “Meeting adjourned or whatever?”

I couldn’t hire them; they weren’t mercenaries. I couldn’t offer safety or passage; they had no need of it. I couldn’t use what little influence I held; they didn’t care who I was. They didn’t even care that I’d said they might be important. They might not believe me.

“The Mage-Templar war will not last long,” I said, instead. “More is coming. Or, rather, something else. At the Divine’s Conclave, which she will soon call, there will be…” What was the best word for it? “Chaos.”

“And how do you know all this, huh? Same bullshit you said about our names?” Emily asked.

“I know the Left Hand of the Divine,” I told her. “I have information.”

“The Left Hand, huh.” Emily crossed her arms, then rolled her head to look at her sister. “That’s important, isn’t it?”

“Very. You can put us in touch with the Left Hand?” Elizabeth asked.

Leliana might not be happy about it, but some things had to be done. “I can.”

Elizabeth nodded. Emily grinned. “Where do we sign?”

 

_…and Varric, be_ nice _to Cassandra. If you took the advice I gave you, then you’ll have nothing to hide, anyway. She’s the Right Hand of the Divine; she’ll find out one way or another._

_Everyone will be safe. Okay, that was a lie: some people are in danger. But our friends are as safe as we can make them, so long as we don’t know where they are. They’ll find their way to us when the time comes, and I’ll bring who we need until then. Tell Cassandra as much. I promise, it will work out in the end. I’ll make sure of it._

_Help Cullen for me. I’ll see you both at Haven._

_Dareth shiral._

_Vir’era_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, we'll meet the lavellans! hope you're ready!


	10. all siblings push each other sometimes right

_Keeper Deshanna,_

_As you are aware of the situation with the shemlen Templars and the non-Dalish mages, I know you wish to keep an eye on the situation, much as I myself have. I would be glad to offer a temporary place in my clan for whoever you might wish to send…_

 

Near West Hill, Dima and Amir Lavellan joined us. My clan was glad that, for once, it would be Dalish faces sharing our fires; the presence of so many non-Dalish (especially the Trevelyans) set much of my clan on edge. Driscoll hardly helped matters with his constant flirting, but I could do little to rein him in—even Jewel could not stop him.

“It’s strange to see so many different faces, Keeper,” Dima said. I remembered her from the Arlathvhen. Her kind disposition was a relief with the unpredictable nature of most of the others.

“I hope it does not cause you discomfort,” I said.

“Oh, no! Not at all.” She shook her head, sitting up straighter on the log being repurposed for a bench. “I so rarely get to leave the clan—Keeper Deshanna was always nervous of the Templars—so it’s wonderful, really.”

I noticed her eyes slipping continuously toward the Adaars, though her effort not to stare was commendable. “You haven’t seen qunari before, have you?”

A flush took her face. She shook her head. Kumbukani, who I hadn’t thought able to hear so far, winked in her direction, which only made Dima curl further into herself. Perhaps to take the focus off his sister, Amir leaned forward. “Kumbukani, you said you and your brother are mercenaries?”

“We are,” Kumbukani replied.

“By choice?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her head tilting. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t imagine shemlen would be very happy to welcome you into other professions. Most can barely stand elves taking work that isn’t as a servant.”

She snorted. “You’re right about that. I like it well enough. Better than a Circle, and usually I’m paid to sit around and look scary. And since they’re scared of qunari by default, I don’t even have to try for that one.”

Amir laughed. Nearby, Emily raised her flask high. “Maker bless dumbass humans, right? Half the time they don’t realize I’m a woman ‘til I speak—and the other half, they don’t even realize then!”

“Damn, and they say they like dwarves,” Kumbukani said. “Did they just conveniently forget beards are an all-dwarves thing? Do they not even see the rest of you? You look plenty womanly to me.” She made a show of looking Emily over.

“I think the beard stops all thoughts in their empty heads.” Emily winked. “I do appreciate the enthusiasm, but you’re barking at the wrong bush; Elizabeth would be more inclined, if you’re really looking.”

“Pity.” Kumbukani sighed. “It’s no problem, though. The clan has been very welcoming, you know.”

I was almost surprised—but not quite. When you had as few people around as we did, word got around fast. It’s not that Kumbukani slept with everyone and anyone, but when even two people constituted about half of the relevant population, well. I’d heard enough talk to have an idea.

Driscoll, as though it were his cue, sauntered over then. “They have indeed,” he agreed, resting a hand briefly on Kumbukani’s shoulder—but only long enough that it showed shared experience, and without the trailing of a lover’s touch. “I’m ever so glad for it. I know how poorly my people are thought of, but I haven’t had any more issue than in the Circle. Truly a relief.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t take offense when we complain about shems,” Mheganni said.

“Why should I?” Driscoll asked. “You’re hardly talking about me specifically, and all that anger—mmf, it just makes for some of the most _delicious_ sex.”

There was a beat of silence. This I knew, too. Everyone probably did. Driscoll seemed to have made it a personal project to sleep with everyone who indicated interest. Oh, he wouldn’t pressure someone who refused his advances—but his clothes were nearly indecent, he saw no need to hide his activities, and he even welcomed bonded couples who wanted ‘a bit of adventure.’ And it seemed he didn’t say no to anything.

Certainly, there were not many in my small clan. But perhaps that was just it: there were not many in my clan, so these outsiders were especially appealing in their near-exoticism. And I’d made clear that they were not permanent additions, though I hadn’t detailed how long they’d be with us—already it had been nearing on two years since the Adaars came into our company.

Amir’s too-pale face flooded with color at Driscoll’s bald words. Driscoll grinned and winked at him, and I wondered if I should warn against anything.

Dima solved that for me by nudging her brother. This, of course, resulted in him nudging her back, and eventually escalated until Dima used just a touch of magic to push Amir all the way into the dirt. He threw a small handful of earth in her general direction, but didn’t bother rising. Used to the shenanigans siblings could engage in (and missing my own brother more than I had in years), I didn’t intervene. It was all in good fun, after all.

 

_Ambassador Josephine Montilyet,_

_My name is Vir’era. I am the Keeper of Clan Sabrae, and a friend of Leliana’s. My clan and I will be attending the Divine’s Conclave, as this war and its result will affect everyone, even the Dalish._

_I bear no ill will, and hope only for peace. I would deeply appreciate the opportunity to observe without conflict; my clan has spent much time near human settlements, and will be no trouble, so long as we are afforded the same respect._

_If you are still not convinced, I can offer my perspective of what occurred in Kirkwall prior to the destruction of its Chantry, as I was there. I understand that you already have enlisted the help of both Varric Tethras and Cullen Rutherford, so I doubt my words would be necessary, but I offer them all the same._

_We will arrive in Haven just after winter begins. I look forward to meeting you._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Keeper Vir’era Hanal’ghilan Sabrae_

_Cullen,_

_I’ve sent a letter to Ambassador Montilyet as well, and I’m sure she’ll spread the word, but you should hear it from me: I’ll be at Haven soon. After I’ve arrived, I’ll tell you everything you want to know._

_No more secrets._

_Vir’era_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the final chapter of Keeper! sorry it took me so long to get this out--it was hard to nail down how i wanted this to go and whether to end here or add more, plus a bunch of minor real-life stuff that added up more than expected. [goddamn, i'm 24 and i still have no idea how to predict how long shit will take me.]
> 
> at any rate, sometime uh... hopefully pretty soon, you can expect to see the next installment, Tarasyl'an Te'las! it'll pick up more or less where keeper has left off. hope you're ready! i sure am!

**Author's Note:**

> floating reminder that i have a discord server for this fic! please join [here!](https://discord.gg/wS3R6)


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